Goodbye Angel
by queenpearl
Summary: The ending scenes of Air Force One. Ever wondered what the Boeing 747/VC-25 was thinking throughout this?
"Air Force One, break off! Break off now!"

"KC!"

Angel could only stare wide eyed in horror as the KC-10 tanker exploded right in front of her. Debris rained down, pelting her nose. She shook off the pain, a minor inconvenience compared to what she had been part of these last 12 hours. In that time, she'd traveled to a foreign country, been hijacked by terrorists, had said terrorists kill a majority of her devoted crew and passengers including both pilots god rest their souls, threaten to kill her, and on top of that she had to contend with their demands to release a radical son of a bitch who advocated genocide whom she herself had helped capture a mere 3 weeks earlier. All in all, not a good day in her books.

She dove rapidly, descending from 15000 feet to just 12000. The German escorts that had broken away for the refueling now rejoined her. "Air Force One, are you alright?" Asked one. "I just watched one of my closest friends die, what do you think?!" Angel snarled back, teeth bared. The other fighters chastised him for asking. Looking sheepish he mumbled "I'm sorry." "No I am. I had no right to snap at you like that." She replied. "You've been through more today than any of us have seen in a lifetime of combat and believe me it's a lot. You have every right." He said. "Whatever." Angel replied, keeping her eyes fixed firmly ahead. "Let's just find a new way to get me down hmm?"

The original plan was that during the refueling, her hostages could escape. And once they were free, the tanker would detach and the fighters would move in. Angel only had a certain number of countermeasures and she couldn't knock down all the missiles. She was ready and willing to go down. She was ready and willing when she tried to land in Germany. It was a hard fought battle that she nearly won but since she lost then, she would do anything now to rectify that mistake.

One she left German territory, the escorts broke off and Angel was alone again. "Being hijacked, witnessing a murder, being threatened with murder, have my number one passenger and his family threatened with murder, I don't see how this day can get any worse." She sighed. Just then her radar lit up seven incoming MiGs all armed to the teeth. "Of course I could always be wrong." She groaned.

Dodging those missiles took every ounce of her skill. Her countermeasure stocks were depleted and all she had left was her maneuvering capabilities which she would admit freely were better than the average 747 but not good enough for all this lead being shot at her. "Damn it!" She hissed as one struck her number four engine. She shut it down automatically but it still leaked fuel suggesting that a fuel tank had been ruptured. "Well isn't this just _grand!"_ She growled. With a roar a surge of missiles shot passed her and struck three of the seven MiGs. Seconds later, their owners roared passed, each F-16 bearing the emblem of the US Air Force. "When we land, whatever drink you want, all rounds are on me!" Angel told them, more than grateful for their timely arrival. "Make it a double shot of heaven on the rocks." Laughed one. "Whimp, I'll take a margarita with a double shot of tequila no salt." Replied another. "You both are whimps." Laughed a third. "I'll take a Daniels straight up, now that's a man's drink. Down the hatch!" He added, downing the fourth MiG with a well aimed shot to its throat. "Yee haw, ride 'em cowboy!" Laughed the second as he landed a direct hit between the fifth's wings. The sixth mangaged to get off a missile aimed right at Angel. "Air Force One, bank left and climb!" cried the second fighter. Angel did so as swiftly as possible but she could see she would never get out of the way in time. "HONEY I'M HOME!" He shouted as he intercepted the missile. He was killed instantly and Angel had to act fast to recover from the shockwave. She hissed as her tail took a few hits. "Fighter 2 is down! I repeat Fighter 2 is down!" She reported. The seventh MiG attempted to get behind Angel and lock on a target, taking advantage of her damaged tail. "Oh no you don't you son of a bitch!" Snarled the first fighter, eager to get revenge for his fallen comrade. A missile right up his ass did the trick. "We're clear." Reported the third fighter but the first was eying something behind Angel's line of sight and the 747 had a pretty good idea of what it was. "Do you have flight controls?" He asked her. "Minimal." She replied, concentrating on moving her elevators. She only got a small response and it was slow too, very slow. And it must've been painful if her broken whine was anything to go by. She panted. "I-I can't land like this can I?" She asked. The fighter's eyes were dark as he replied "No, I'm sorry." Angel nodded. In an attempt to lighten the mood she said "I still owe you that drink." They both laughed. "We'll figure something out Angel, don't worry." "Just get the president to safety, Lieutenant. Nothing else matters." She replied.

Angel ran out of fuel over the Mediterranean. "Engine 3 is flamed out. Engines 1 and two are a failing." She reported as her RAT deployed. She shook her head as she struggled to adjust to the change. For any aircraft, running out of fuel in mid-flight made for a dizzying, nauseous experience and if Angel had any fuel left she would've thrown it up for certain. As it was she dry heaved a few times, small drops of bile is all that came out. Raising her head she looked over at the C-117 transport that had been diverted from its original course to the south to come aid in this rescue operation. Looking right into his eyes she said "Send the line." It took great skill on both aircraft's parts to maintain a steady separation that would keep the line taught enough for people to zippline across. Maintaining altitude was impossible with Angel now falling from the sky like a 320000 lbs glider. The 747 felt a sense of relief as the first lady and her daughter made it across but she still had to get the President off. Then one of the secret service agents, the last one to remain on board revealed his true intentions. He attacked the President, a move which sealed his fate and Angel's. Snarling, the 747 severed the cable, leaving her Commander in Chief to swing Tarzan style across to the transport. Angel held the agent close to her fuselage as she rolled on her back. "Traitors will not be tolerated on board this aircraft!" She snarled and at the last second, rolled upright. Her belly struck the water's surface and the agent was instantly crushed and drowned by the impact. Angel's last minute roll maneuver cost her dearly and her right wing struck the water first. It bent well beyond its established 20 degree angle, flexing to almost 50 degrees before it snapped. Angel was cartwheeled over, sent soaring for a brief moment as her broken wing acted like a catapult. She rolled several times before landing hard on her side. Amazingly, she came to a rest on a beach. She didn't know she was so close to land. The sound of rotors filled her ears and bright lights shined down on her then all went dark.

...

For President Marshall, the 15 minute trip from the White House to Andrews Air Force Base felt more like 15 years. He certainly felt like he'd aged as much over the last few days. Just a mere 48 hours ago, he'd made a harrowing escape from a badly damaged Air Force One. Now he was going to his plane's home base to see her one last time. Angel had somehow managed to land herself 2 miles from Italy's southernmost tip. When she rolled she ended up on a beach filled with hotels. Tourists and military personal were quick to administer aid and Angel had been hoisted into a carrier and flown back to the states within a few hours. She'd arrived late last night and technicians and doctors had been working around the clock to do whatever they could for their prized baby. It had proven to be all in vain as Angel did not respond to their treatments. Her wounds just wouldn't heal. President Marshall now had a choice to make. Either he let his beloved plane bleed out over several days, or he chose to end her suffering in a much more humane fashion.

It seemed almost surreal to him as he left Marine 1 and headed across the tarmac to Hanger 19. Angel's twin sister was standing outside the hanger on the open tarmac and she snapped to attention as he approached. "At ease." He ordered automatically. He paused seeing the barely veiled pain behind her eyes. She was losing her sister and there was nothing she could do about it. "Marine 1!" Marshall called. "Yes sir?" The chopper asked. "Take Angel 2 over to the maintenance hanger, and get her something to eat." Marshall ordered. For once, the chopper's voice took on a spark of gentleness as he replied "Yes sir. Come with me." He was kind as he gave the 747 a gentle nudge towards the maintenance hanger. Slowly, as if in a trance, Angel 2 responded to him and allowed him to lead her away.

Sighing, Marshall braced himself for all kinds of grisly scenes, recalling a few from his days in Vietnam before stepping through the hanger doors. The hanger was spotless as always, kept clean as a whistle by a loving crew of 120. The only blemish to its open clean space was a makeshift bed of blankets over which Angel danged from her supports, held by a strong crane moved inside. The pride of the US Air Force no longer looked anything like a 747. Her right wing was missing, the bandage at where it used to meet with the fuselage was stained with a growing red stain. Her left wing was badly mangled and both engines had been removed so Angel dangled somewhat with her tail towards the ground and her head propped skywards to help her breathe. Her landing gear, well protected within her fuselage when she hit the water, was spotless. Her beautiful blue paint job was gone, stripped down to bare metal in some places, and in others the green protective undercoat was exposed. But all over she was covered in white bandages that were all quickly turning red. You didn't even have to have spent a day at the doctor's to know she was a gonner. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Marshall climbed onto the stairs adjacent to Angel's nose. Unlike some of his predecessors, Marshall always knew his plane was alive. He couldn't understand her beyond the grunts and growls of the airplane tongue. But he knew she had a soul and a life and right now that life was being taken from him. He wished those terrorists were still alive so he could kill them with his bare hands all over again! He pushed his anger aside, it would do him no good now. Those men were dead, Angel was dying and right now he was here to pay his last respects to the plane who had saved his life and the lives of most everyone aboard her.

The second his hand touched her nose, Angel stiffened. Her cerulean blue eyes opened and at once she began to struggle, trying to find a level position from which to salute her commander in chief. "As you were Angel, it's okay." He murmured, both hands now rubbing soothing circles along her nose. She sighed an exhausted sigh, eyes half-closing. Marshall took a moment to examine a series of scrapes on her nose and along the center column of her windscreen. They were minor compared to her other wounds but the former pilot knew what they were and to him, they represented more than their small size would normally allow. They were from the desperate fueling separation that Angel had endured that had resulted in the destruction of the KC-10 who, as Marshall understood it, was a close fleetmate of Angel's. He was in the rear cargo hold at the time and never any of the action. How terrifying that must've been for her. Of course, Angel had received the finest training from the Air Force in preparation for her assignment as Air Force 1. She wasn't Commander of the United States Air Force for no reason. But all the training in the world can't ever prepare you for your first taste of actual combat. Marshall still remembered his. The sheer terror of close quarters fire was not something one forgot, despite the years that had gone by. If Angel had pulled through this, no doubt the memories of this adventure would've stuck with her too.

The plane beneath him shifted slightly with a groan. A technician came up. "Sir, if you're going to do it, you need to do it now." He said. Marshall looked at the man, then back at his plane. His faithful, courageous, plane and said "I give you the authorization to administer the anesthesia. Put the needle in. I can't do it." The man stood at attention, his face radiating complete understanding and sympathy. "Yes sir." He replied. "Sir," He paused. He looked like he was considering how to phrase his next sentence. He glanced at the semi-conscious 747 several times before saying "Angel, she was a special plane. Her courage under fire was exemplary." "That it was. She was." Marshall agreed. "I've approved a signed letter from congress granting Angel, Air Force One, the Medal of Honor for her bravery and her loyalty to the United States." The man grinned ear to ear. "She deserves nothing less sir." He replied. Marshall turned back to his plane. "We're gonna dress you up in fine colors, all parts attached and that shiny new medal hanging from your wing." He said. If Angel heard him, she gave no response as the needle was put in. There was a brief moment of struggle and the straps strained against her weight. Marshall tightened his grip on one of them. "Shh, easy. Easy Angel easy." Angel was soothed by the sound of his voice and she rested her nose against his shoulder. Marshall gently ran his fingers down the sides of her face. "You'll be wearing the finest blues and silvers we have, polished down to the last nut and bolt so that you'll shine so bright you'll appear more gold than anything. There will be a big ceremony, the whole of DC will turn out and the streets will be crowded from people traveling in from across the country. Poor Dulles ATC's will have heart attacks directing all the traffic." Marshall thought he heard a faint chuckle but he couldn't be certain. The hot breath on his shoulder suddenly got quicker. Tightening his grip, the president forced himself to continue. "It will be magnificent. The children will be entertained all day by a big fair and we'll have a fireworks show at night followed by a traditional flyby. Just magnificent Angel, I wish..." His voice broke and he tried again. "I wish..." He faltered as in the background he heard the low single tone of the heart monitor. A flat line. "I wish you could be here to see it." He finished.

The straps holding Angel off the ground were removed and she was set gently down on the makeshift bed. James Marshall, the President of the United States, the single most powerful man in the world, wrapped his arms around Air Force One's forward landing gear, buried his face in her neck and cried.


End file.
